Accidents Happen
by TheAlphaWrites
Summary: 3-year-old Peter gets hurt under Uncle Clint's watch. Part of the 'My Super Family' verse. Requested. Steve/Tony. AU.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Requested by Anonymous on tumblr and youreshowingoffagain on FanFiction**

_**Thank you to my beta, WithinHerHeart :)**_

* * *

Clint hadn't meant for it to happen. It was an accident. Steve and Tony had gone out for the day, some couple bonding or whatever, and with Natasha in Peru, it was up to Clint to babysit for three-year-old Peter and the barely one-year-old Ronan. After spending a few hours in the Tower, it was clear that all three boys were becoming angsty at being stuck inside so Clint had decided to take them to the closest playground, somewhere Peter could run around and interact with kids his own age and Clint could continue on his mission to get Ronan walking by himself.

He'd told Peter to stay on the smaller kids climbing frames, had told him clearly that he wasn't old enough for the others, but now that he thought back, this was Tony Stark's son – he should have known he wouldn't like being told what to do. Clint had only taken his eyes of Peter for a minute, he swore, to help Ronan shakily move across the cushioned tarmac, when he heard the panicked scream from behind him.

He'd swirled around violently, searching for the source, and his eyes automatically zeroed in on the fallen boy. Apparently, he'd decided that the 8ft slide was his new adventure, and had climbed easily up the slightly tilted steps. At the top, his uncoordinated legs seemed to take control and he slipped, tumbling off from the top of the playground toy. Peter peered up at his Uncle and cousin with teary eyes, sniffed loudly and hugged his arm closer to his chest.

"My arm really hurts, Uncle Clint," he whimpered.

And that's how Clint found himself pacing a whole in the ground outside A&E as he waited for Steve and Tony to arrive, worried out of his mind. Peter had been taken to be seen almost immediately and, after a very long interview where Clint had insisted that _no, he hadn't been the one to do this, that child abuse wasn't involved and that it had been an accident_, he had been allowed to call the necessary people. He bounced his baby boy in his arms, needing the pressure of the small body against him to assure himself that Ronan wasn't hurt, which only seemed to make it worse when guilt swelled up in his chest for thinking that when Peter, his nephew, suffered because of his negligence.

He pressed a kiss to Ronan's hairline and sighed heavily. It was his fault, _his fault_, and nothing was going to change that. He pressed his cheek to the crown of the baby boy's head and tried in vain not to think about it.

"_Barton!_"

Clint jerked at the sound of his name, and straightened up startled at the sudden presence of Tony Stark, his expression moulded with fury and worry, storming towards him. Ronan made a sharp noise of objection at the sudden movement and Clint automatically moved to soothe the expression away. In the distance, he could see Steve hurrying after his partner, a concerned expression on his face.

"Where's my son?" Tony demanded.

"…The doctors took him away to have his arm x-rayed about ten minutes ago," Clint answered honestly.

"X-rayed? Why would he need his arm x-rayed?" Steve questioned panic rising in his voice. He stopped at the billionaire's side and their hands automatically searched for each other, taking strength from the touch.

"The doctor said he thinks Peter may have broken his arm," Clint told them quietly. He gave them a pleading look. "I'm really sorry guys, I didn't mean for this to happen. I only took my eyes off him for a minute. I didn't expect him to-"

"Expected him to what Barton?" Tony snapped at him, "Peter is a three year old boy; you shouldn't even have taken your eyes off him for a _millisecond_!"

"I know that now, and I'm s-"

"Don't say you're sorry again!" the man continued angrily, "I can't believe…we trusted you to look after our son and the next thing we know, he's in a hospital because he's broken his fucking arm – and _you let that happen_ Barton. You can say sorry a thousand times and _nothing's_ going to change that!"

"Tony…" Steve tried to interrupt softly.

"We should never have trusted you with something as important as looking after our son because it's obvious you can't handle it. It's a wonder that Ronan even-"

"_Don't you dare talk about my son_!" Clint warned, his eyes flashing dangerously, "Now I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't want Peter to get hurt and it's eating me up inside that this happened on my watch. But I told him not to go on that slide. I told him that he was too young and that it would be too dangerous – but of course, the son of _Tony Stark_ always has to have things his way. He didn't listen to me and now he's hurt himself. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but don't _ever _question how capable I am of looking after my son, because he has nothing to do with this."

The two stared each other down darkly, the tension seeming to grow with every passing minute, until finally Steve spoke up, "We know Clint, we know you didn't mean for it to happen. We don't blame you, regardless of how Tony's acted. And we know that you and Tasha are great parents to Ronan. You two are acting like children and I for one want to see my little boy, now where is he?"

Clint jerked his head towards the inside of the building. "You need to show proof of I.D. to the receptionist and she'll tell you what room Peter is being seen in. And don't worry about the insurance; I've already sorted that out."

"Thank you," Steve nodded once, a brief smile crossing his face. He tugged the other man after him. "Come on Tony."

Clint watched them go silently, his heart pounding loudly and his body feeling unnaturally heavy. Ronan gurgled in his arms, grabbing his attention, and used the strength in his baby hands to tug his daddy closer by the collar of his shirt. He pressed his face against his cheek, and Clint nuzzled the soft skin.

"Don't worry little man, Peter's going to be fine," he whispered softly, although he was uncertain whether he was reassuring the baby or himself.

* * *

Steve had come to find him when he'd been sure that Peter would be okay. Clint had been in the waiting area, refusing to leave until he was sure the little boy would be already, and watched Ronan push a fire truck along the carpeted floor, making the appropriate siren noises. Steve had smiled warmly at the boy, who was too engrossed in his game to look up, and took the seat beside his friend and teammate.

"So how is he?" Clint wondered.

"Good, good. It was a clean break through the bone and the doctor said that it should heal as good as new in a few months – although Tony thinks it could be sooner than that because of Peter's, um, genetics," Steve responded, "He's asking for you."

So Clint had left his son under Steve's watchful gaze with a clap of thanks on the man's broad shoulders and followed the directions the blond had given him. Along the corridor, a left turn, past the nurses' station and then it's the third door on the right. Clint knocked hesitantly on the door, before cautiously pushing it open. Peter and Tony turned to stare at him and he offered an awkward smile.

Tony brushed a caring hand over the boy's brown hair. "Okay spidey, I'm going to go wait with your Papa."

"Okay Daddy," Peter nodded, accepting a kiss on the centre of his forehead.

Clint skirted into the room, trying to move out of Tony's way as he made to leave. The billionaire paused at his side and gave him a long glance out of the corner of his eye. "Listen Barton, I didn't mean-"

He waved him off easily. "Don't worry about it Stark; water under the bridge," he assured.

Tony gave him a short smile before escaping the small room, the door closing behind him with a gentle click, leaving Clint and Peter together. With a small, warmed smile, he moved to sit on the bed by the small boy.

"How are you feeling Peter?" he wondered.

"Sleepy, but Daddy says it's because of the painkillers they gave me," Peter answered, rubbing his eyes for effect, "I broke my arm, see?" he raised the arm that was hanging in the sling, as if trying to shove the thing under Clint's nose, "the doctor said I could have it in any colour so I chose red, and Papa said he would get me some blue wrappings to put around it because red and blue are my favourite colours."

"Well red and blue suits you kiddo," Clint couldn't help but smile. He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and gently gripped his shoulder, the side that was uninjured. "I'm glad you're feeling okay."

Peter looked at his arm for a moment before finally raising his head to meet the gaze of his Uncle. His expression was sad and self-pitying, and his eyes seemed to glisten under the florescent lights as tears welled. "I'm sorry Uncle Clint. You told me not to and I got hurt."

"Its fine Peter, really, I'm just glad you're okay."

"But Daddy shouted at you," Peter pressed. He flushed when Clint arched an eyebrow, "I could hear Papa telling Daddy off because he shouted at you when the doctor was putting on my cast."

"Haven't your daddies taught you not to eavesdrop on people's conversations?" Clint teased.

"I was bored. I had to sit still," he tried to defend himself.

"Seriously kid, you don't have to be sorry. Your Daddy was just worried about you, that's all, and I think you've been punished enough for not listening to me," Clint gestured towards the injury, "So next time you won't be climbing up that slide, right?"

"Promise," Peter nodded obediently, a serious expression on his face.

"Good," Clint grinned. He jumped off the edge of the bed and lifted Peter into his arms, settling the small boy on his hips, "Now let's get your daddies and Ronan, and let's go home."

"Daddy said that when you're sick, you get to have chocolate ice cream for dinner," Peter told him excitedly.

"Is that so?" he arched an eyebrow, "Something tells me your Papa isn't going to be entirely happy with that…"


End file.
